


summer sun kissed

by somehowunbroken



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Memorial Cup 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7033501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitch wins the Memorial Cup. That's just the beginning of his summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer sun kissed

**Author's Note:**

> THE KNIGHTS WON THE MEMORIAL CUP AHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> it was either explode with joy or write this. i chose this.
> 
> eternal thanks to ari, the most significant of otters, for beta reading. <3

It's not entirely accurate to say it's been one big party since they got home from Red Deer, but it's not as far off as it sounds. Mitch is still in a state of disbelief, kind of, because he'd thought they were going to have more of a fight — in the playoffs, in the OHL cup final, in the round robin. The last game wasn't a picnic, sure, but getting there was like a fairytale, and they definitely got the pot of gold at the end.

He might be mixing his metaphors. Whatever.

This is probably the last real party they're going to have; they're between the combine and the draft now, and a lot of the guys have drifted back to their homes for the summer. It's a small gathering, really. Dvo's here, because Dvo can always be relied upon to back up Mitch's dumb plans, last-minute parties included; Chucky's here, but he's bouncing around like a pinball, nerves about the draft making him incapable of sitting in the same place for three minutes at a time. There are a bunch of GTA people, too, Davo and Domi and Dylan.

Mitch thinks about it as he takes a sip of his beer. He's got a lot of people with D-names. Maybe he needs to broaden his friendship horizons, or something.

"Hey," someone says, falling into the seat next to Mitch. Dylan leans over to clink their bottles together. "Nice one, eh?"

"Nice one," Mitch agrees. Dylan could mean anything. It doesn't really matter. Lots of things are nice right now.

"Good win, too," Dylan says after a minute. Mitch looks over, a little surprised; Dylan had texted him right after, three hockey sticks and a thumbs-up, but he gets how it's a sore subject. The Otters were every bit as good a team as the Knights; they'd just picked a bad time to hit a slump.

"Thanks," Mitch says after a minute.

They don't say anything else for a while. DeBrincat showed up at some point, and he's got Davo and Dylan's older brother talking to him; Chucky's near them, so it's almost definitely draft-related. There are various McLeods running around, and Crouser and Konecny are laughing at something on one of their phones. Mitch actually doesn't want to know.

Dylan's phone buzzes, and he shifts around so he can dig it out of his pocket. He snorts when he looks at it. "Davo," he says, and when Mitch looks up, Davo's giving them two thumbs up and a super huge smile.

"Uh," Mitch starts, waving back. "What's he doing?"

"Being an asshole, mostly," Dylan says, typing something on his phone before clicking the lock screen on and tossing it to the grass. He takes another sip of his beer. "He thinks he's helping."

"Helping," Mitch repeats. Davo's elbowing Ryan now, who turns and gives Mitch the most long-suffering look he's ever seen on a Strome, which is saying something. Ryan turns and narrows his eyes at Dylan, then mouths something.

"Dick," Dylan mutters. "Both of them are dicks. Never get drunk with your brother and your best friend, Marns. Bad shit happens."

"No shit," Mitch says dryly. He points his bottle at Crouser, who's got Konecny tucked so firmly up against his side that they have to be honestly sticking together in this heat. "Bad shit happens whenever that guy turns up, drinks or no. Still, I'd rather have him than not." He shrugs a little.

Dylan's looking at his out of the corner of his eye, sort of. "Only bad shit happens?"

"Depends," Mitch says, draining the last of his beer. "Are you gonna tell me what's making you all twitchy, or should I just ask Davo?"

"Let's get refills," Dylan says, in what is probably the least smooth change of topic ever. Mitch rolls his eyes but gets up. Dylan's bad at secrets; he'll spill eventually.

As soon as they walk around the side of the house, the noise level drops off. It's not silent, but it's a lot quieter; the speakers point the other way, and everyone's still on the porch, so it's just him and Dylan and the cooler with the beer.

"Grab the opener," Mitch says, nodding to where someone had tossed it into the grass. He bends over and grabs two bottles, then holds his hand out.

He hears Dylan take a deep breath, but that's all the warning he gets before Dylan grabs his outstretched hand and tugs. He stumbles a few steps towards Dylan, but they were already close; it brings them chest-to-chest.

"Glad it was you," Dylan says, voice speeding up like it does when he's nervous. "If it wasn't us, I mean."

"Dyls," Mitch says.

"Just," Dylan says, and then he leans down and kisses Mitch.

Mitch doesn't even have a chance to process what's going on before Dylan's pulling away. "Yeah," Dylan says nonsensically. "I'm gonna… go. I'll just."

And then he's all but running for the gate, leaving Mitch standing there with two beers dripping condensation down his fingers, wondering what the hell just happened.

He's still standing there when Davo comes around the corner a few minutes later. Davo's got his aggressively neutral face on, which is probably not the best sign.

"I told him you wouldn't be a dick about this," he says flatly. "If I was wrong, tell me now, because he just ran out of here like you spat on him, and he won't answer his phone."

"He kissed me," Mitch says, because — well, it sounds like Davo's already aware that Dylan had been planning to, and he needs to say it out loud.

"Yeah, got that much," Davo says. "I'm bad at fighting, Marns. Don't make me get someone on my team to fight you for me next time we play."

Mitch has to shake himself a little bit. "I didn't spit on him," he says. "I didn't do anything. He just kissed me and then ran before I could do anything."

Davo's face softens a little. "Stromer," he sighs, fond and annoyed at the same time. He shifts on his feet. "Look, okay, he likes you."

"That much I got," Mitch says. It's about all he's got, true, but he had managed it.

"He's also really bad at, like, words," Davo goes on. "Ryan and I told him to actually talk to you, but." He shrugs a little. "I'm not really surprised he bolted."

"Can we go back to _he kissed me_?" Mitch says. He wants to rub at his mouth, but he's not that cliche, thanks. At least not with an audience.

"Well, he wasn't supposed to start with that," Davo says, clearly a little grumpy. "There was a game plan."

"A game plan," Mitch echoes. He sort of wants to laugh, but he knows that's not gonna win him any points right now. "Can I ask for the plays, or is that cheating?"

Before Davo can say anything, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out and frowns at it for a minute. "Well, he's halfway home, so I guess he's okay," he mutters.

Mitch's own phone chimes. It's from Dylan, a one-word text that just says _sorry_. He stares at it for a moment before looking up and shoving the bottles he's still clutching towards Davo. "So I'm leaving my own party," he says.

For the first time since he walked over, Davo looks happy. "I'll cover for you," he says. "And, like. Don't fuck this up, Marns. I will break my hand on your face, and then everyone will be pissed at both of us."

"I'll do my best," Mitch replies. "See you later, Davo."

"Go," Davo says impatiently, and Mitch grins as he jogs inside to get his keys and shoes. He's got no idea why everyone thinks Davo's so nice all the time. He's still a hockey player, under all that fame and terrible hair.

It's a forty-minute drive from Mitch's house to Dylan's, which gives him a lot of time on his own. Other than a text from Dvo — _get it marns_ — he's completely uninterrupted.

"Okay," he says aloud ten minutes into the drive. "What the fuck, Dyls."

It's not like the thought has never crossed his mind. Anyone with even a passing interest in guys would take a second or third look at Dylan; he's tall and lanky but still really solid, and he's sharp and funny and has a smile that would light up a room, though it's hard to get it out of him. He has stupid bedhead in the mornings and has no patience for people who don't like animals, and yeah, fine, Mitch has given it more than a little thought. He'd looked, but he hadn't thought Dylan might be looking _back_.

Apparently he'd misjudged that.

He sighs as he takes the exit for Mississauga. He's going to have to do the heavy lifting here; Dylan's not a guy who's afraid of having feelings, but he usually plays things pretty close to the chest. Mitch gets not wanting to put yourself out there, not wanting to get hurt, but at the same time, he wishes Dylan was a little freer with his words.

He gets another text as he's turning onto Dylan's street.

 _Everyones out I called ahead for u_ , Ryan Strome says. _Also if I come home n he's crying I will end u_

"Nothing like a little pressure, am I right," Mitch mutters as he gets out of the car and heads for the front door.

The door opens before he gets there, and Dylan leans against the frame, looking less like a spooked horse than Mitch thought he might. "You didn't have to drive all the way out here," Dylan says. He's still talking too fast. "You could have just, like, texted. I'm sorry. I should've—"

Mitch puts a hand on Dylan's shoulder for balance, goes up on his toes a little, and presses their mouths together.

It's objectively terrible. Dylan's still talking, for one, but Mitch can wait until he gets with the program. He freezes when he does, and then he takes a step backwards, which makes Mitch lose his balance and stumble forward into him.

"We're on the _porch_ ," he hisses. "What are you — oh my god, get in here." He wraps his hand around Mitch's wrist and pulls him in until he can close the door behind them. "What the hell?"

"No, that's my line," Mitch says. "Which you didn't let me deliver, by the way, since you kissed me and fucking ran."

Dylan shoves a hand through his hair. It's too short for that right now; he'd buzzed it off to get rid of the terrible yellow mop he'd worn through the playoffs, and while it's a vast improvement, Mitch misses the floppy mess he's usually got hanging into his eyes. "I don't — it wasn't supposed to go like that."

"I heard there was a game plan," Mitch says. "For the record, I don't think Davo's impressed with you."

Dylan winces. "Yeah. He, uh. Texted me."

"So," Mitch says. "Want a do-over?"

"A do-over?" Dylan asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Mitch confirms. He knows he's grinning, can't really help himself. "You can follow the game plan this time, if you want."

"I don't need a game plan," Dylan scoffs, then seems to reconsider. "Or, like. I totally do, but not—"

"Dyls," Mitch cuts in. "We can skip to the part where you kiss me, and neither of us runs away."

A smile steals its way across Dylan's face, and yeah, it's just as bright as Mitch remembers it being. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Mitch confirms, smiling right back up at him.

This time it's better, Dylan moving into his space and curving one hand around Mitch's hip as he leans down. There's no hesitation this time; Dylan kisses him and kisses him in the hallway, taking tiny steps forward until Mitch's back is pressed to the wall. He shivers a little, but when Dylan moves like he's going to pull away, Mitch grabs his shoulder and keeps him right where he is. It's easy to lose himself in this, in being surrounded and kissed breathless. It's nothing like he thought it would be, but then, he never really let himself dive too deeply into this particular fantasy pool.

Dylan's thumb is stroking back and forth against Mitch's hip when he finally does pull away. He smiles down at Mitch, eyes wide and dark as he rests their foreheads together.

"So I might have freaked out," he says quietly.

"Maybe a little," Mitch says dryly. "You ran away. Like an hour away."

"I did," Dylan acknowledges. "Which was an overreaction. I can admit that."

"Oh, good," Mitch says. "I'm glad I don't have to convince you."

Dylan's gaze drops to Mitch's mouth before flicking back up. "You did a pretty decent job of that already, yeah."

Mitch grins up at him. "So you ran away, and then I ditched my party for you."

"We're like a bad romcom," Dylan agrees. "Also, every single person there probably knows I kissed you, so. Hope you weren't planning on… _not_ that."

"I don't really care," Mitch says, shrugging. "I trust everyone there. It's not like I want a dirty little secret or whatever."

"Yeah?" Dylan asks, and there's something like hope in his voice, or maybe surprise. "You're. Are you actually just… good with this?"

Mitch slides a hand around the back of Dylan's neck. He's as clear as he can be about telegraphing what he's doing as he drags Dylan down to kiss him again, quick brushes of their lips. "Do you actually think I'd be here, doing any of this, if I wasn't?"

"No," Dylan mumbles. "Just. Had a long time of thinking this wasn't a thing that could happen."

"If you want it to happen," Mitch says, "then I'm game."

"I'm in," Dylan says instantly. The smile blooms on his face again, and being this close to it is a lot.

Mitch has to close the distance between them so he can kiss it off Dylan's face. It's a pretty good game plan all around.

**Author's Note:**

> [follow me on tumblr!](http://somehowunbroken.tumblr.com/)


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